I would like to get something off my chest.
take this as what you wish;
a poem,
a confession,
a cry for help,
whatever you see fit.
But take it as this, simple fact;
today, I nearly committed suicide.

So, you're probably asking yourself
why or how?
so I guess I'll have to tell you a story.
you may not enjoy it, mind,
but if you have made it this far,
you must be curious,
right?

I woke up itching and aching from the mosquito bites and bruises all over my body,
(I went paintballing a few days ago for my friend's birthday)
and so, after taking some pain killers,
my mum suggested I had a shower.

The water burned at my swollen hands,
it beat against my purple-bruised back and arms,
and my hair was a knotted mess that I couldn't bare on my skin.

When I got out of the shower,
my skin was on fire;
everything was so, so, so hot and my hair was disgusting against my neck and back which were already aching from lying awkwardly in my sleep
I didn't even have any clothes to change into when I got into my boiling-hot room and I didn't want to just walk around in a towel.
So I just sat.
And cried.
And yelled.
Andcriedandcriedandcried.
And SCREAMED.

My mum was concerned,
so she tried to help.
But everything was already too much;
I had gone nearly a month without any kind of incident,
so I was long overdue.
I couldn't stop scratching at the dozens of bites on my swollen hands,
and I was just so, so vey hot.
I screamed at her, and I couldn't help it.

She was just trying to help,
and I knew it then - I know it now.
I heard my sister crying in the room next door,
but I couldn't stop.
Everything was just so ****** up.
My dad comes storming down,
like he does when arguments are actually getting somewhere useful,
and tells me to back off and go back into my sweltering room.
I scream at him that he's useless,
that the only thing he ever does is make the arguments worse.
I slam my door as hard as I can,
and throw the glass in my hand.

After that, I couldn't stop crying.
the tears just kept coming, and coming,
and I didn't know what to do.
I wasn't angry - I never actually was,
that is just a lie that my mood tells everyone when I'm depressed -
I was just really, really ******* sad.

I couldn't get the thought of the medicine cabinet out of my head;
above the counter on the right of the kitchen sink.
I couldn't forget about all the meds in a plastic Tupperware box;
prescription drugs,
pain killers,
I knew that there was enough for me to do it,
I knew that my mum and sister were going out,
and that my dad had been told to give me space.
I could do it.

Did you know that overdose is the second most common form of suicide in women?
Because I didn't.
The thought occurred to me whilst I was sitting in my misery,
tears still pouring down my face.
Is it because it is just so easy?
Is it that easy for everyone?
Oh, sweet Jesus,
I hope it isn't that easy for everyone.

The scariest part of it is this;
I get these thoughts maybe once a week,
sometimes more.
I am only 14 years old,
and today I nearly committed suicide.
I have great friends who depend on me for their emotional support,
a promising career in acting,
an amazing voice,
good grades,
a not-insignificant talent with sketching,
and most importantly,
I have dreams.

Today,
just like countless other days like it,
I was completely ready to just
throw all of that away.

Now, I don't know if I will ever live until I leave school,
or whether I will live until my hair turns grey and I am surrounded by grandchildren,
but I want to get out a message;
age does not equal risk.
People doubt my truthfulness when I tell them about my health,
because I haven't "experienced" enough.
None of that matters,
because when it comes down to it,
all it takes is this;
a method,
a means,
and a motive.

Don't let anyone you love make the mistake I almost did.